


Domestic

by batmanbemysugardaddy



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Batlantern - Freeform, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Content Warnings in Story Notes, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hal Jordan is Green Lantern, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Rimming, Slash, Smut, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 21:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18972874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmanbemysugardaddy/pseuds/batmanbemysugardaddy
Summary: This is technically a sequel toHomebut can easily be read standalone.Bruce and Hal admitted their feelings for each other (in their own fucked up way), but then Hal was immediately (and predictably) called away for a three-week-long mission in space. This is the aftermath.This fic is equal parts hurt/comfort, smut and fluff, with cameos from a couple of batkids and some jokes at Guy Gardner’s expense for good measure.“Hal found himself landing about half a mile from his destination, in a field of unkempt, dry grass. He dropped his suit and mask to run his bare hand through the grass, glad he’d remembered to wear real clothing under his suit for once. The grass caught against his jeans, and the sensation of dirt – regular, Earth dirt – soft and pliant under his boots was a welcome homecoming. He should have gone back to Coast City, he knew – to his lantern and his apartment – but all he’d been able to think upon descent was that he’d wanted to go home.”





	Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> This work can be read standalone, but feel free to read Pt 1 [ here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633700)
> 
> **Content Warnings:**  
> 
> Mentions of past bullying (physical violence), graphic depictions of injuries (canon typical), explicit sexual content, swearing

Astronauts always tell you that the Earth looks beautiful from space, but nothing can ever quite prepare you for the first time you see it. It makes your breath catch in your throat and your eyes well up a little, no matter how bold you might think you are. It sits there against a backdrop of endless black, and you spend a long minute trying to adjust yourself to the fact that every tiny, twinkling dot in the distance is another planet of equal complexity and beauty.

This reality-altering awe wears off after a while, of course. Hal puts it at about three trips into space. By the third time, he’d barely noticed Earth’s vibrant blues and greens, or the bright-white clouds textured like impasto that swirled across the globe. He stopped thinking about the fact that he could _see_ the weather, or that he could travel in minutes to places humans of the past had spent their whole lives journeying to.

But this trip home was different. Hal was years into his career now; a seasoned space traveller who had seen worlds far more exotic and beautiful than Earth, and who had been to nearly every nation on his quaint home planet. He’d fought aliens so hideous and foreign that there weren’t words in any Earth language to describe them. Humanity’s home planet should have been lacklustre to him; mediocre. These impasto clouds should have looked like a child’s art project.

Instead, Hal was breathless like a rookie again as he made the descent towards North America. When he got close enough to his destination he dropped his shield and let the cold east coast winds whip against his face and muss his hair. Usually he tried to stay at the same altitude as the clouds, providing his glowing-green form with some much-needed camouflage. Tonight, though, he was hoping a particular pair of eyes would see him.

The sun was rising, Hal realised (he always found it hard to tell from space what time it would be when he hit the ground). He found himself landing about half a mile from his destination, in a field of unkempt, dry grass. He dropped his suit and mask to run his bare hand through the grass, glad he’d remembered to wear real clothing under his suit for once. The grass caught against his jeans, and the sensation of dirt – regular, Earth dirt – soft and pliant under his boots was a welcome homecoming. He should have gone back to Coast City, he knew – to his lantern and his apartment – but all he’d been able to think upon descent was that he’d wanted to go _home_.

The manor came into view over a gentle slope, and Hal broke into a smile that he knew would look downright terrifying to anyone watching. But here on Gotham’s north shore there was no one around but the birds coming to life in the sparse trees around Hal. The sun was rising – pink and murky – behind the enormous silhouette of Wayne Manor that had intimidated him just a few weeks ago.

Not stopping, but slowing somewhat, Hal considered that last part. It _had_ only been a few weeks. And a few weeks since they’d what? Made out in Bruce’s bed and fallen asleep in each other’s arms? Right before Hal had been called away for an urgent sector patrol. Bruce had insisted that he didn’t mind, but Hal remained unconvinced.

Aside from the occasional League mission, Bruce rarely strayed far from home. The bat was tethered here, by a hundred or more heartstrings all tugging on his chest at once. Hal could scarcely imagine having so many friends – so many loved ones. Bruce – or rather, Batman – had a reputation within the Cape community as being the type of edgy loner who brooded atop darkened rooftops in the rain, but Hal had never bought into it.

The first time they’d ever met on Bruce’s home turf he’d been in the company of both Nightwing _and_ Red Robin. One of them – Hal didn’t remember which black-haired, blue-eyed boy it had been, but in retrospect he supposed it was probably Nightwing – had said something about being “Batman’s kids” and somehow everything about Gotham’s dark knight had slid into place. The way he’d go from giving one-hundred-and-ten percent to one-hundred-and-fifty the second he heard a kid screaming in the distance, the way perpetrators of domestic violence always seemed to have a few extra broken bones in their face when the cops carted them away from a League disaster zone or Gotham City crime scene.

As if on cue, the ornate double-doors of Wayne Manor swung open in anticipation of his arrival, and none other than Dick Grayson himself stepped out to greet Hal. Hal briefly wondered if perhaps the Waynes had developed psychic powers while he was away. He shuddered at the thought, though it would certainly explain a few things.

Dick was wearing civvies – dark jeans and a black t-shirt – but they were a little dishevelled and he had that look on his face that said _I_ just _got out of my uniform, what do you want?_

As Hal stepped inside, he spied Red Hood in a patch of shadows in Wayne Manor’s cavernous foyer. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his uniform yet and was idly checking one of his guns over.

“Just back from patrol?” Hal asked chipperly.

He slung a handshake Dick’s way, who gave him an aloof grin before sharing a knowing look with Hood. Hal pivoted to follow Dick’s gaze and shook Hood’s hand as well, accompanied by an emphatic, “Jason!”

“Maybe you can talk some sense into the old man,” Jason said immediately.

Though his scarlet helmet was still on, Hal could sense the eyeroll in his voice. Hal snorted out a laugh in return, eyeing off both Dick and Jason and wondering just how much they knew about the nature of his relationship with their father.

Dick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before dropping his hands to his hips and staring in the direction of the Batcave’s secret entrance, as though Bruce might be able to feel his gaze from here – which was equal parts exhausted and disapproving. The effect was somewhat ruined, however, by the fact that Dick’s skinny jeans were an inch too short at the ankles and his feet were bare.

Hal cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Do I even want to know?”

“He dislocated his shoulder,” Jason supplied, entirely unhelpfully. “And Alfred is away,” he added.

Dick groaned, “And he’s being _difficult_ about it.”

Hal’s heart skipped a beat as he tried to grasp why he was being saddled with this task. Were the boys just sick of Bruce’s shit and trying to find a schmuck to wrangle an uncooperative bat for them? (Likely.) Or did they think that Bruce would be more easily convinced by Hal’s… what? Sweet-talking? Sexual favours? (Plausible.) A small voice in Hal’s head told him that he should fly out of the room right now and find a place to scream until his embarrassment subsided.

“We were hopin’,” Jason said conspiratorially, “you could pin ‘im down,”- _oh, god_ -“with your Lantern powers and force his shoulder back in.”

_ Oh _ .

“He hasn’t learned to do it himself yet?” Hal blurted out, surprised.

Dick gave him a sharp look then, while Jason cocked his helmet-clad head at him.

For a moment, Hal had forgotten that not every Cape had had as harsh an upbringing as his, and that most of them didn’t spend weeks at a time alone in sectors of space where no one knew a damn thing about human anatomy.

Hal rolled his eyes at the two young men before him, trying to play off the extraordinarily grim looks they were giving him.

“What?” he asked defensively, “You think they know human first aid in space?”

He didn’t think the two former-Robins would buy his excuse, but it was enough to free him from the grasp of their stares.

Hal buried his hands in his pockets and shrugged by the two boys, swaggering towards the den and its grandfather clock. His gait was one of artificial ease, as he felt Nightwing and Red Hood’s eyes following him down the dimly lit hall.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hal rounded the corner and escaped their sight. He reached for the piano to open the Cave’s secret entrance, but found it already swinging open. Unsure if that was a good sign or a bad one, Hal kept his expression straight and steadfastly ignored the flush that crept over his cheeks. It briefly crossed Hal’s mind that Bruce was watching him blush on some sort of bat-camera right now, but Hal refused to give that thought the time of day.

Though the cave was dark, Hal managed to pinpoint Bruce’s exact location by following the sound of panting and laboured breathing, probably as Bruce tried to pop his shoulder back in himself.

“It’s easier if someone else does it!” Hal called stupidly into the darkness.

Immediately the laboured breathing sounds stopped, and Hal imagined (with a small sense of smug satisfaction) that Bruce was sitting still and waiting for him.

Rounding an impossibly complicated machine, Hal finally spied Bruce; suit pushed down to his hips, with his back to Hal. His pale back was white against the black that engulfed the Cave. Scars – some months old, some decades – glinted in the low-light from a few floodlights in the distance.

Bruce’s cape lay discarded on the floor behind him and Hal stooped to pick it up; busy-work to quell the nervousness that was wreaking havoc on his stomach. He folded it neatly and placed it beside Bruce, who sat atop a cold stainless-steel table.

Bruce was cradling his right arm in his left and from his position behind Bruce’s back, Hal could see the sickening droop of his right shoulder. Hal swallowed down bile and supposed that he was just lucky he’d never seen his own shoulder looking like that.

“It’ll hurt less if you lie down,” Hal said hurriedly – awkwardly.

“Sitting up is fine,” Bruce replied immediately.

Hal told himself that the venom in his voice was because of the pain, and not because Hal’s patrol had been extended by a week from two to three. There had been nothing Hal could do about it (much as he had wanted to come home on time for once), and surely Bruce knew that.

Hal gently wrapped his right arm around Bruce’s body and took hold of the wrist of Bruce’s injured arm. Knowing he had to be firm and precise to avoid causing any unnecessary pain, he let the ring take over and wrap both of their arms in its soft green light.

“Were you avoiding me?” Bruce asked as Hal extended their arms out in front of Bruce, until the limb was completely straight.

Bruce winced, and instinctively Hal wrapped his left arm around Bruce’s torso, pressing his palm flat over the centre of his chest. Now Hal’s chest was flush with Bruce’s back; equal parts for comfort and to physically support his shoulders.

“No,” Hal said easily, knowing there was no room to snap at Bruce while he was trying to perform such a delicate procedure.

In truth, Hal was fighting back flashbacks to his first ever shoulder dislocation. He couldn’t even remember the kid who had done it now, but it had been about a week after his father’s death, and all Hal could remember was the pain and how it had twisted in his gut until it had become something far worse: fear. It was the first time in his life where Hal had truly frozen up. Now, he gritted his teeth and refused to freeze up.

“I haven’t even been to Coast yet,” Hal continued, knowing Bruce wouldn’t be placated by a simple ‘no’. “I’ve been in space for three weeks and my ring’s almost out of juice.”

Hal paused to push Bruce’s body closer against his with his left hand and pull backwards with his right – steadily but with enough pressure to force Bruce’s shoulder back into place. He could feel Bruce sweating against him, but he didn’t make a sound. Whether that was admirable or stupid, Hal wasn’t sure.

Once Hal heard the distinct, stomach-churning sound of Bruce’s shoulder popping back into place, he slowly bent it back in towards Bruce’s torso, cradling it under the forearm with his own arm. The ring’s light faded, as if to emphasise Hal’s point.

“But I’m here,” Hal said quietly, breath hot against Bruce’s sweat-slick neck.

Bruce shivered then, and Hal could feel him trying to hide it. The bat gently pushed Hal’s hand away with his own until he was supporting his own arm and Hal just sighed, picking up a bandage that sat beside Bruce’s thigh and lazily fashioning a sling from it. He was nearly finished tying it up around Bruce’s neck when Bruce spoke again.

“So why won’t you look at me?”

Hal barked out a laugh then, unable to help himself. He finished his knot perhaps a little too roughly and rounded the table. He stopped right in front of Bruce, planting his hands pointedly on either side of the man’s thighs. Then he stared right into Bruce’s eyes, unflinching.

Which, in retrospect, might have been a mistake. Because really, what was he thinking? That he was going to win a staring contest with Batman himself? And there was Bruce, with those infuriatingly soft blue eyes, his usually perfect black hair sticking up in all directions. _Cowl hair_ , Hal thought he’d heard Nightwing call it once. And then there were his lips… which Hal was making point of not looking at. Hal could feel his mouth curving up into a smile despite himself, and Bruce was watching said mouth, eyes twinkling with amusement. And then Hal caught a whiff of him.

He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed yet, but he supposed he’d been too focused on Bruce’s injuries. Now, it was overpowering. Bruce’s expression had turned sour, and Hal knew it was in response to the grimace on Hal’s own face.

“Did tonight’s patrol involve a trip to the sewers?” Hal asked, stepping a good foot back from Bruce and trying desperately to prevent a bout of dry-heaving.

Eventually he settled for a cough, his hands on his knees. When he stood back up, Bruce was fucking _grinning_ like the goddamn animal he was.

“Killer Croc,” Bruce answered simply.

Hal rolled his eyes.

“ _Waylon_ ,” he corrected pointedly, “is a good friend of your son’s and I won’t have you carting him off to Arkham.”

Scrunching up his face as though that would somehow block the scent, Hal closed the distance between himself and Bruce, encircling the bat’s waist with his arms. Bruce got the message and wrapped his good arm around Hal’s neck, allowing Hal to help him to his feet.

“Showers?” Hal asked.

Bruce pointed lazily towards a door a few feet away and Hal guided them both there, one hand on the small of Bruce’s back. Neither of them mentioned the intimate gesture, but Bruce wasn’t exactly shrugging it off.

“Croc,” Bruce said, then sighed. “ _Waylon_ ,” he corrected himself, “wasn’t the criminal we were after. He was helping us,” Bruce conceded.

“Still working for Waller then?” Hal asked, opening the door Bruce had pointed to.

It opened up into a locker room not unlike the kind you would find in a high school; only the lockers were larger and the aisles between them more spacious. Each locker was numbered, and each had its own designated shower stall. Following the numbers in descending order, Hal guided them to number one. He didn’t feel the need to ask if that was Bruce’s locker number, it seemed like the only option.

“More like working for Harley these days,” Bruce was saying as he parked the man in front of a bench.

Hal sat down on it and reached around Bruce’s utility belt, looking for some kind of clasp or locking mechanism. He stopped a second later though, looking up at Bruce through his lashes.

“This is definitely booby trapped, isn’t it?” Hal groaned.

Bruce let out a laugh, the rumbling kind that came from low in his belly. He’d moved his good hand so that it was on Hal’s shoulder, and now it snaked its way up his neck and into his hair. Hal half expected Bruce to tug on it or push his head closer to his groin. Instead, Bruce rubbed gentle circles into his scalp and rubbed a thumb over his temple.

“Fingerprints will disarm it automatically,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.

Hal was about to say something snarky along the lines of _so disarm it then_ , when Bruce continued.

“Your fingerprints will work,” he said with all the gravity of someone who was discussing what brand of shampoo they were going to buy this month.

Hal got to work while he figured out how the hell to respond to _that_ bombshell, finding the clasp at the front of the belt and unclicking it. While he gently put Bruce’s utility belt down on the bench beside him, he decided cracking another half-assed joke would be the right way to respond.

“So, what?” he joked, “You programmed all of the League’s fingerprints into your suit so that we can help if you ever decide you need that stick taken out of your ass?”

Another laugh from Bruce, this one breathier as Hal slowly pulled Bruce’s suit down over his hips. Most of the armour was gone already, including his gauntlets and boots, leaving him in just the skin-tight bottom layer of titanium mesh – which included covering his feet like stockings.

“Just yours,” he said after a while. “And Alfred’s.”

Hal felt the breath leave his lungs at Bruce’s words, and without thinking he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Bruce’s abdomen, amongst the trail of hair that led from his stomach to the waistband of his grey boxer briefs.

“You know Guy has a bet going that you’re a tighty-whities man,” Hal found himself saying stupidly.

“Guy doesn’t even wear underpants,” Bruce bit back immediately.

Hal rolled his eyes, standing up and guiding Bruce towards the shower stall that was marked with a ‘1’.

“And how would you know?” Hal asked smoothly, pushing Bruce into the stall and closing the door behind him.

It was only a half door, presumably to protect a minimal amount of modesty without interrupting strategic conversations or debriefings between shifts. Bruce was hardly a modest man, unafraid of nudity in any form. They’d seen their fellow leaguers naked on a number of occasions, and Bruce had never batted an eyelid at it. Hal wondered if that was what having six kids did to you; at a certain point a screaming, naked vigilante high on some sort of alien crack wasn’t surprising anymore because often that screaming vigilante was your own son.

Bruce ran the water and slipped his underwear off, which Hal collected under the door without a fuss before Bruce could try to bend down and retrieve them. Neither of them said anything about it, and Hal threw them into what he assumed was the communal clothes hamper before busying himself with opening Bruce’s locker and finding him some civvies to change into.

“Gardner hardly has the concentration you have,” Bruce called at him, referring to how he knew Guy went commando.

He’d turned around in the shower so that he was still facing Hal, continuing their conversation. Hal turned to lay out a pair of sweatpants on the bench and took a long look at Bruce’s wet shoulders and pecs. He lifted his good arm above his head to run it through his hair as he soaked it, and Hal almost dropped the pants he was holding as he watched Bruce’s biceps flex, a tuft of dark hair poking out from under his arm.

“It doesn’t take much to break his concentration,” Bruce continued, though he was watching Hal intently, smirking now. “Or yours, apparently,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hal cleared his throat and turned back around to rummage through the locker and find Bruce underwear and a shirt.

“If I was wearing the suit,” Hal called back over his shoulder, “it wouldn’t have disappeared just now.”

“How disappointing,” Bruce called back, amusement still clear in his voice.

Hal rolled his eyes, hanging the grey sweatpants and white cotton t-shirt he’d chosen over his arm, along with a pair of Superman-branded boxer-briefs that he absolutely wasn’t going to question the presence of, and a couple of towels. He crossed the room back to the shower stall, where Bruce looked to be enjoying himself.

Dark bruises were blooming on his skin now, the hot water soothing them as Bruce just stood under the water. The fatigue in his body was clearer now, as Hal slung the clothes over the stall door and unthinkingly began stripping off his own. Bruce wasn’t watching him; he was fumbling with a bottle of shampoo, seemingly determined to wash his own hair with only one usable arm.

“Don’t worry about not getting the sling wet,” Hal admonished as he pushed his underwear (the last of his clothes) down around his ankles and threw them vaguely towards the lockers, “It’s just there to keep your arm comfortable, if it gets wet I’ll just change it.”

Bruce was about to say something snide, Hal was sure, as he slipped in behind the other man and snatched the shampoo bottle out of his hands. Bruce turned around immediately, and Hal watched a blush spring to life across his cheeks, which concentrated on his nose, under his eyes and (bizarrely) on the tips of his ears.

Hal leaned forward then, cheating a little with his ring to even out their heights, and pressed his lips gently against Bruce’s. He didn’t make any attempt to deepen the kiss, just glided his tongue lazily over Bruce’s lips and then pulled back, dropping back to the ground and staring up into Bruce’s eyes.

“Let me help,” he breathed, their noses barely an inch apart, “Okay?”

Bruce nodded, swallowing thickly, and Hal watched his Adam’s apple bob before twirling his finger to indicate that Bruce should turn around. Bruce did as he was told, and Hal used his ring to hover again, a little higher this time, so he could easily lather Bruce’s hair with shampoo.

They didn’t say much for a while, as Hal massaged Bruce’s scalp in gentle circles before rinsing out the shampoo and doing the same with the conditioner. It had a fruitier scent than Hal had expected from the bat, but Hal was looking forward to burying his face in Bruce’s hair once it was dry anyway.

While the conditioner soaked in, Hal set to work on Bruce’s body, which was when their amicable silence was finally broken. To Hal’s immense surprise, it was Bruce who spoke first. Well, speaking might have been a generous way to put it.

Hal was pressed flushed against Bruce, his chest to Bruce’s back again, as he lathered the other man’s chest with soap. He’d glided the palm of his hand idly over a nipple, not thinking much of it because he was focused on not bumping Bruce’s injured arm.

“ _Hal_.”

Bruce moaned like the sound had been ripped out of him; like he’d been holding it back for hours.

Suddenly Hal was picturing what Bruce had been doing without him for the last three weeks. Lying in bed and moaning like this, his hands roaming over his own body; his – apparently extremely sensitive – nipples, his cock.

But Hal bit back the urge to drop to his knees and take Bruce’s cock in his mouth, to push him up against the nearest wall and stroke what he was sure was a beautiful cock until Bruce was too blissed-out to do anything other than chant Hal’s name breathlessly over and over.

“Come on,” he breathed into Bruce’s ear.

It took an enormous amount of willpower to peel himself away from Bruce’s body and turn the other man around. He said something like, ‘let’s get you rinsed off’, trying to ignore the moment when Bruce’s heavy and throbbing cock brushed against his own. When the soap and conditioner was thoroughly rinsed away, Hal reached past Bruce to turn the water off and then grabbed a towel to wrap around Bruce. He tucked it under the sling and then untied the now sopping wet piece of fabric, which he threw over the stall door, nailing the hamper in one.

He towelled Bruce off meticulously from head to toe while Bruce propped up his arm and silently moved it out of Hal’s way whenever it was necessary. Hal took extra special care with Bruce’s injured arm, leaving it until last and patting it dry as gently as he could. Bruce still hissed a little when Hal touched it but didn’t say anything. When he was done, Hal hastily tied his own towel around his waist and then helped Bruce into his underwear and sweats, deciding the t-shirt would be too difficult to manoeuvre right now.

“Superman fetish, huh?” Bruce snarked a while later, as Hal was towelling himself off.

Bruce was leaning against the shower stall now, still cupping his right arm with his left, not making any effort to hide the way he was eyeing Hal up and down hungrily.

“Borrow some clothes,” he ordered, and Hal did as he was told, throwing his own clothes into the communal hamper.

“It’s not a _fetish_ ,” Hal said as he pulled on a pair of Bruce’s sweats and a shirt that was a size or two too big for him.

He picked up Bruce’s discarded suit and utility belt and Bruce motioned towards the entrance to the Cave. Hal crossed the room and held the door open for Bruce, then followed the other man out.

“It’s a _joke_ ,” he continued insistently.

“Uh-huh,” Bruce said, pointing to a table where the rest of Bruce’s suit was laid out. “Alfred will fix it when he gets back,” he said.

When Hal returned to where Bruce was standing, near the same table where Hal had fixed his arm earlier, Bruce was holding out a bandage. Hal made quick work of affixing another sling to Bruce’s arm and then they both wandered upstairs towards the Manor barefoot.

“We ate on the way back to the Cave,” Bruce was explaining idly as they passed the kitchen, “But if you’d like something, I can-”

Hal cut Bruce off with a lazily raised hand.

“I ate this… stew?” Hal grimaced, trying to find the words to describe exactly what his last meal in space had been, “It was definitely some type of lumpy, edible liquid…” Hal sighed. “Anyway, I’m not ready to think about food again yet – though I’m sure your cooking is great.”

They were stopped in one of the Manor’s hallways now. Hal still couldn’t properly discern them from one another, but he didn’t think anyone was around, so he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Bruce’s cheek.

“But thanks,” he breathed, leaving his face right next to Bruce’s for longer than was strictly appropriate.

They stared at each other for a long while before Bruce finally stepped away and continued walking. Hal fell into step beside him, becoming uncomfortable with their renewed silence faster than he’d care to admit.

“Before,” Hal said quietly, “when I said I wouldn’t lose my concentration if I was looking at you like that.”

“Hal, it’s fine-” Bruce began, raising his good arm in a polite gesture.

“It’s because I’ve got a lot of practice staring at you,” Hal blurted before he could stop himself, cutting Bruce off. Figuring he couldn’t embarrass himself further, he continued, “In League meetings, on missions, everywhere, I just…”

Hal faltered. Suddenly his mouth felt dry and he couldn’t stop looking at Bruce’s bare chest. He was overcome with the desire to press his lips to Bruce’s abs and lick his way down to Bruce’s cock. He wanted to take it all in his mouth – especially now that he’d seen it and felt it against his own – and he wanted Bruce to thrust into his mouth desperately and cum down his throat.

Bruce was opening a door to their left and then suddenly Hal was being dragged into the room with Bruce’s good arm. Bruce kicked the door shut behind him and growled, grabbing Hal by the back of the neck and dragging him in for a vicious kiss that left Hal’s head spinning.

When Bruce let him go he didn’t know what else to do except dive back for more. This time he opened his mouth wide and let Bruce’s tongue in to explore; licking along his teeth and pushing in as deep as it could go.

Between punishing kisses Bruce growled, “Clothes. Off. Now.”

Hal complied instantly, dropping to his knees to all but tear Bruce’s pants off, leaving him naked and hard in the early morning light.

Dimly, Hal realised they were in the master bedroom – Bruce’s bedroom – where they’d spend the night together three weeks ago. That had been a different affair entirely; they’d kissed softly and just held each other.

Hal got to his feet slowly, heard Bruce say, ‘I meant _your_ clothes’, even as Hal was already taking off his shirt. He was slower now, more deliberate, making sure to raise his arms all the way above his head so that Bruce could get a good look at him. His borrowed sweats were too big in the waist and now they dipped below his hips, revealing a tuft of pubic hair and the base of his cock, which was a clear imprint under the thin fabric.

Bruce stalked past him towards the bed, pausing briefly to press a kiss to Hal’s shoulder. Hal was overcome with a sudden shyness, and found himself gathering up their clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on a nearby dresser. When he turned around, Bruce had laid out two pillows in a neat pile in the middle of the bed.

Hal got the message loud and clear and complied, sending a shy smirk Bruce’s way. Bruce, to his credit, smiled back encouragingly despite his hard and leaking cock. Hal got on his hands and knees on the bed, resting his stomach and hips on the pillows so that most of his weight was on them, not the bed.

“Such a gentleman,” Hal snorted, dragging another pillow closer to rest his face against.

Hal only got Bruce’s typical _hnn_ in response, in a tone that indicated he was concentrating on something. Hal was about to ask if Bruce was comfortable to do this with his shoulder injury when he felt Bruce’s wet tongue lick right over his hole.

Hal cried out, hips bucking into the pillows instinctively as Bruce set the unrelenting rhythm of a man who had done this before. Bruce leaned into it, working Hal’s hole until he could push his tongue inside. Hal’s hands contorted in the sheets and his toes curled. He buried his head in the pillow to muffle the inhuman sounds he was making. In what felt like a heartbeat, Bruce had him sobbing into the pillow and whining his name.

Far too soon, Bruce pulled back to breathe. Hal whined, but the other man’s tongue was instantly replaced by a finger, already slick with lube. Hal didn’t question how the bat had snuck that one past him, and instead arched his back and pushed his hips back until Bruce’s finger was buried as deep as it could go.

“Oh, _Hal_ ,” Bruce moaned, leaning forwards until all his weight rested on Hal’s hips.

Hal could feel Bruce’s hard cock twitching against his thigh, so close to his own cock, and Bruce’s finger was still buried to the knuckles inside Hal’s ass.

“Ah,” Hal gasped, grinding his hips back against Bruce’s, “Another. _Please_.”

Bruce complied with his grovelling, taking a moment to slick up a second finger before pressing them both back inside Hal’s tight ass. Hal revelled in the way his muscles burned for a long moment before homing in on his breathing, forcing himself to relax.

Bruce’s fingers pumped in and out of him slowly, in time with Bruce’s cock rubbing against Hal’s thigh. Bruce seemed to know instinctively when Hal was ready for a third finger and added it a moment before Hal could ask.

“Bruce, baby,” Hal gasped, voice high and breathy as Bruce scissored his fingers and stretched Hal wider for him.

The burn was starting to fade entirely now, and Hal was about to tell Bruce he was ready when Bruce spoke.

“I don’t know if I can…” Bruce panted. “Like this…”

Hal squeezed his eyes shut, guilt rising like bile in his throat.

_ “Shit,” _ he swore, forcing himself up onto his hands while his elbows quivered in protest.

Hal had been so wrapped up in what Bruce was doing to him – in his own pleasure – that he’d forgotten about Bruce’s shoulder. And the fact that he’d been out all night, exhausting himself, crawling through sewers and getting the shit kicked out of him – and doing god-knew-what with Waylon.

Ashamed, Hal tentatively pushed himself up onto his knees and reached for Bruce’s left arm. He took it and wrapped it around his own chest.

“Lean against me,” he murmured, almost cooing, “I can take your weight, it’s okay.”

Bruce let go of a heavy sigh and all but collapsed against Hal then, pivoting just enough that his injured arm wasn’t caught between their bodies. Hal twisted his head to press a soft kiss to Bruce’s jaw, whose eyes drifted shut before he turned fully away from Hal.

“I still want to,” he said after a while, “I just don’t know if-”

“Shh,” Hal breathed, working his way out of Bruce’s grip carefully.

He kept one hand pressed to Bruce’s chest and used the other to push the pillows away and slowly guide Bruce down onto the bed. Hal made a fuss with the pillows and got Bruce comfortable on his back, planting kisses to Bruce’s damp hair and reddened lips as he went.

When he was finished fussing, Hal found himself straddling Bruce’s hips, with Bruce looking up at him with the same soft, puzzled expression that he’d worn when Hal had first shown up tonight.

Hal had sat in Bruce’s lap in this bed three weeks ago, he realised, and suddenly he was overcome with the feelings that night had been fraught with. Perhaps it had been the three weeks in space that had allowed Hal to become accustomed to the idea of dating Bruce, but he was beginning to understand now that that was foolish. They weren’t even dating, yet here Hal was acting like his boyfriend – well, more like his _husband_ , if he were being honest. In retrospect, they probably should have discussed that before the rim-job.

“Do you still want to?” Hal asked softly, hoping that his vulnerable expression would explain what he was really asking.

Hal could feel Bruce’s still-hard dick pressed up against the crease of his ass, and part of Hal was hoping Bruce would just blindly say yes, so he could impale himself on that perfect cock and forget about the heaviness in his heart. It was never that simple with Bruce Wayne, however.

“Hal,” Bruce murmured, reaching out with his good arm to rub Hal’s thigh comfortingly.

It was equal parts sweet and arousing, and Hal didn’t know what to do with it. Was he supposed to moan? Or cry? He held his breath, waiting for Bruce to answer his question.

“I-”

- _love you_ , Hal imagined that sentence finishing.

Bruce seemed to be searching Hal’s eyes for something; maybe the answer that he thought Hal wanted to hear. His grip on Hal’s thigh tightened until it hurt, and Hal flinched but that only pressed Bruce’s cock closer to his ass. Bruce made a low whining sound that caught in his throat and turned into a whimper.

“I want this more than anything,” Bruce finally said, his tone more solemn than one Hal might have mustered in the same situation.

Hal decided that was all the affirmation he needed for tonight and wasted no time in lifting his hips up and lining Bruce’s cock up with his hole.

“ _Christ_ ,” he moaned.

He was finally, properly holding Bruce’s cock in his hands and it was enormous. Thick, heavy, and covered in pre-cum. Bruce’s hand and a bottle of lube appeared and Bruce slicked up his own cock while Hal balanced on his haunches, waiting impatiently to sink down onto it.

The second Bruce’s hand was gone Hal was slamming his hips down with abandon, taking the whole thing in one frantic motion and arching his back desperately when he felt how deep it had gone. His mouth opened in a silent cry and he tipped his head back, bracing his hands on Bruce’s stomach to keep himself steady.

Bruce was panting beneath him, running a hand through his hair with his good arm. Hal bit his lower lip as he watched Bruce, slowly feeling his ass adjust to the huge cock he’d just slammed into it.

A little impatiently, Hal lifted himself up again and thrust back down hard. This time he did cry out, seeing stars as his thighs convulsed from the pleasure. He reached out for something – anything – to grab and found Bruce’s hand.

Fingers entwined, they began moving their hips in tandem. Hal insisted on a punishing rhythm that had him squirming on Bruce’s cock and falling forward onto his hands to brace himself on either side of Bruce’s head. Bruce’s hand was still in his, but Bruce only squeezed it tighter.

Bruce thrust up into Hal’s ass with so much force that their hips bucked up off the bed for a long moment. Exhilarated, Hal tried to coax him into doing it again. Bruce did – again, and again – until Hal’s cries of pleasure became broken sobs.

Then Bruce disentangled their fingers and clasped Hal’s jaw with his good hand, dragging Hal’s face downwards to bite at his lips possessively. He growled, and Hal felt it in his cock, which was caught between their chests and slick with pre-cum.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to do this?” Bruce snarled in his ear, breath hot against Hal’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Hal panted between thrusts, “I didn’t mean to- _ah_ -be gone so long.”

“ _Long_ ,” Bruce spat, tangling his fingers in Hal’s hair and pressing their foreheads together.

Bruce’s lips were parted, and his teeth were bared. His breaths were fast and ragged, his eyes glinting and his skin glistening with sweat. There was no air to breathe between them, so they sucked in each other’s breaths instead; breathing in the scents of the other until it was all they knew.

“You think three weeks is long,” Bruce growled, tugging hard on Hal’s hair, “I’ve been in love with you since the day I first saw you.”

The room seemed to come crashing down around them then. Hal’s heartbeat was rushing in his ears and he couldn’t hear anything else. Bruce had let go of his hair and both of their hips had stilled. Suddenly the hot, humid air was suffocating, and Hal had to pull back, sitting up in Bruce’s lap. Bruce was still inside him and for a few terrifying heartbeats neither of them moved a muscle.

“Hal, I-” Bruce began from where he lay limp on the bed.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Hal said suddenly, surprising even himself.

There were tears somewhere in the back of his throat – evident in his voice, no doubt – and sweat dripped down his back like he’d just stepped out of the shower. He found himself moving his hips again, grinding down against Bruce’s still-impossibly-hard cock with a newfound desperation.

“Don’t you dare ruin this,” he gasped, dropping his arms back down on either side of Bruce’s head to box him in.

Bruce’s expression was unreadable, so Hal made it disappear by covering the other man’s lips with his own. Bruce kissed him back feverishly and Hal felt Bruce’s hips begin to stutter. He grabbed Bruce’s good hand and guided it to his cock, which Bruce began to tug on hard and fast, in time with Hal’s thrusts.

“Don’t you dare ruin this,” Hal repeated, though it was made less threatening by the gasp of _oh fuck_ that immediately followed it as Bruce hit his prostate.

“I meant it,” Bruce sobbed as his hips canted upwards into Hal erratically.

“I know,” Hal growled.

He pried his eyes open, which had been shut with pleasure, and stared directly into Bruce’s. He held the other man’s gaze even as Bruce’s grip on his cock tightened and threatened to send him over the edge. He could feel his orgasm pooling in his belly and he knew Bruce was close too.

It wasn’t even what Hal wanted anymore, though, not really.

“Say it,” he found himself panting desperately, back arching as Bruce twisted his hand over the head of his cock. “Say it properly,” he demanded.

“Hal,” Bruce moaned, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Hal gasped before Bruce had even finished saying it.

That was all it took for Bruce. He thrusted his hips upwards so hard that he lifted Hal entirely off the bed, leaving Hal’s toes barely grazing the mattress. Bruce held him there for longer than Hal would have thought possible as he clawed at Hal’s thighs, letting out a low groan for every burst of cum that Hal felt shooting inside of him.

Hot liquid spilled out of Hal’s ass and onto Bruce’s cock as Bruce gently lowered them back to earth, and Hal came untouched onto Bruce’s chest. His whole body shuddered and white-hot heat filled Hal’s stomach, spreading out all the way into his fingers.

“I meant it,” Hal stammered the moment his mouth was capable of making words again. “I meant it,” he chanted – a promise, “I meant it.”

“I know, my love,” Bruce was saying – repeating – soothing him with a hand to his chest.

Hal peppered Bruce’s jaw and neck with years of ungiven kisses, waiting until Bruce softened inside him before finally pulling away. After Hal cleaned them both up, they settled together underneath the covers, where their breaths evened out in time with each other.

After a long while, Bruce spoke.

“You can move your things in tomorrow.”

With no further explanation, Bruce dragged Hal onto his chest with his good arm and promptly fell asleep.

Hal sighed, nuzzling into Bruce’s neck with a smile.

“It’s good to be home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr](http://www.holy-fate-worse-than-death.tumblr.com) for updates on fics, new fics, shitposting, DC headcanons, memes, and occasional art! Feel free to send me anon requests for fics (though I can't always promise I'll get to them) or just send me cute compliments and/or constructive criticism
> 
> P.S. Hal says Waylon is friends with one of Bruce's sons because Jason knows Waylon through Roy. In my headcanon Hal and Roy know each other pretty well, which is why Hal is so particular about that


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